The Vision (13 page)

chapter 21

We stood on the sidewalk, between Zander's car and the storefronts lined with garbage bins. I still had a hand on the car's roof like it was home in a game of kick the can. Somewhere safe.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means exactly what you think,” Zander said, reaching for my hand. “Let's go.”

I crossed my arms, leaning back, fully against the car now. It took him a few seconds to realize I wasn't coming. Zander dropped his outstretched hand.

“What?”

“You don't really think I'm just going to follow along, do you?”

“Listen.” He exhaled, a short, frustrated sound. “You want to know how this works? Then come with me.”

“I get it, Zander. The mark means they're going to die, so I decide if it's the right time, you do your … whatever.” Because of course, I still didn't know what he did—his
necessary actions
. It gave me the shivers and I shook my head. “I'm not sure I want to do this.”

“I don't get you at all,” he said. “On the drive, you were dying to know. Here I am now, ready to
show
you, and you won't let go of the damn car. What's the deal?”

“I
do
want to know. I'm just not sure I want to actually be, like, a part of it. Right now. Here.” I glanced around at the dirty streets, pulling my coat a little tighter.

“Well, we don't really have much of a choice, do we, Cassie? That's the bitch about death, you don't get to pick the time.” He smirked. “Well, actually,
you
do, but you know what I mean.”

We stared at each other for a minute. A stalemate.

“Look,” he said, when it became obvious I wasn't moving. “You have to come along. I need your help.”

“With what?”

Zander jangled his car keys, looking down the dim, near-empty street, before answering. “I don't know who it is,” he said finally. “Or if it's the right time. My gift is meant to be paired with others' gifts, just like yours. That's how they used to work.” He spun the keys impatiently, flipping them around a finger, then back again:
tah-ting, tah-ting.
“I've learned how to do it on my own so that I can usually find them, but getting the timing right is much harder.”

“What if you don't?” I asked, then backtracked, realizing I had never considered that his gift might be different from mine in this way. “How
do
you find them, anyway? What do you see?”

He shook his head, dark waves swaying slowly. “I don't see. I feel.” Zander's eyes narrowed, his vision turning inward to cull the right description. “It's like … I sense their weakness, their muscles moving slower or their heart struggling, as if the body knows it's almost done, like it's giving up. Even the young ones. When they're near, I smell decay, though nothing's in the air.” He shook his head at the insufficiency of words. “I don't know. It's like a combination of smell and sight and hearing at a very essential and primal level.”

“Like a predator seeking out his prey?”

Zander made a face, not amused.

“So, you feel something, but …?”

“But it doesn't always mean it's the right time. I learned that pretty early on,” he said wryly. “My mom's tried to help, but she doesn't have the gift.”

“She doesn't?” I'd suspected as much, but wanted to hear what he'd say.

“No. Mine passes only to the males in the line, just like yours passes to the females.”

“So your father …?”

“Had it.”

I asked it more directly. “Where is he?”

“Gone.” It was like watching a padlock snap shut on Zander's lips. There'd be no more discussion about
that
. It was too cold to stand out here wasting time, so I went back to my earlier question instead.

“So what happens if you get it wrong?”

“I'm not sure,” Zander admitted. “I've been told that doing it too late forces the soul to wander indefinitely and being too early steals a part of their essence. In real life, sometimes it seems like nothing happens. And sometimes they get”—his face darkened, something forbidding passing across it—“fucked up.”

I shivered, imagining the memory of what he'd done. “Has that happened a lot?” I asked.

“Not a
lot
…”

But way more than it should. “Maybe you shouldn't be messing around with your gift, if you're leaving people fucked up.”

“And maybe you shouldn't be trying to save people when you have no idea how or who you're sending to their death in doing so,” he countered angrily.

Touché. We glared at each other.

“Anyway,” he said crossly, “you can solve the problem by telling me when it's the right time.”

I shook my head. “I really can't help you, Zander. I don't know anything beyond the day.”

“That,” he said deliberately, “is exactly what I need to know.”

“Oh.” It clicked neatly into place. Of course. I was his perfect match. The yin to his yang.

“Now you see why I need you,” Zander said, stepping closer and looking into my eyes so intimately it was as if we touched. “We belong together.”

His voice had the huskiness of deep emotion and I was so drawn to it—to him—that I barely noticed I'd let him slip his gloved hand in mine until he tugged it gently, whispering, “Let's go.” Slowly, he took a step, then two backward, his gaze unwavering.

Dazed, I felt myself peeling away from the car to follow him down the cracked sidewalk, shadowed in the colors of dusk. We walked, hand in hand past corrugated metal barriers shielding the closed stores, doors with buzzer boxes for the apartments overhead, and a convenience store, the only sign of life, with racks of newspapers, magazines, and candy squeezed into its tiny space. At the corner, we waited for cars to pass. There was a bar there, the kind with an anonymous door and windows high on the wall, like those in Jackson Kennit's basement apartment.

“Where
are
we?” I asked Zander.

“Nervous?” He smiled and tucked his arm protectively over mine, pulling me closer, our gloved fingers still intertwined.

“No,” I lied, ignoring the tingly feel of being beside him. “Just curious. I've never been here.”

“I imagine not,” Zander said, nudging me to start across the now-empty street. “This is Norwood. Not one of the city's best areas. Not one of the worst either.”

We walked halfway down the next block in silence. I had the same feeling I'd had driving here. That Zander both knew and didn't know where he was going.

“Are you, like, following a trail or something?”

“Yes. But someone seems to have eaten all my bread crumbs.”

“For real, Zander. Can you feel that there's one here?”

“Yes. I've felt it for days. I've been trying to pinpoint who, but figuring out that it's here is as close as I've gotten.” He frowned. “That's why I've been trying to get you to come with me, but you were oh so cooperative. We're lucky it's not too late.”

“Why didn't you just
tell
me?”

He stopped, looked at me directly. “Would that have made a difference?”

“Well … uh …” I fumbled, not sure of the answer myself. If he'd told me at school that he needed my help to do his bizarre “duty,” would I have come?

“Right,” he said, reading my doubt. He started walking again and I felt his grip tighten, holding my hand firmly, as if to be sure I didn't escape. “That's what I thought.”

He moved fast and I had to trot every third step or so to keep up. “So you're waiting for me to see the mark?”

“Well, unless someone jumps out and screams ‘I'm dying,' yes.”

“But I thought you could find them on your own.”

“Usually I can,” he said evenly. “But I've been walking around down here for days, so clearly I could use some help with this one.”

I thought about that as we moved briskly down the windy sidewalks. If I didn't tell him, there's a chance Zander would never find the person. Then what? They were going to die whether we were there or not. At least if we found them, there'd be a chance to do the right thing. Whatever that was.

“Don't you think we should try looking in some of the buildings or something?” I asked. “There's no one out—”

And then I saw her. Saw
it
, to be exact: the glow of the mark, partially hidden behind a Dumpster.

I stopped short, stumbling as Zander jerked my arm, not realizing I was no longer moving.

He turned and saw me staring down the alley. “Ahhh.” The satisfaction in his voice was clear. “You found him.”

I didn't answer. Slowly, I walked down the narrow passageway. Zander had let go of my hand but was close on my heels. It must have been something about the way her legs were positioned, maybe the size of the feet I'd seen protruding that made me sure, even at first glance, it was a woman. She was sleeping, clearly homeless, with tattered, dirty bags full of unidentifiable stuff surrounding her like the walls of a fortress. Her own private empire of trash, like the “Shopping Bag Lady,” a story I'd read as a kid. It always made me sad, even though at the end she opens up a store and sells her “treasures.” This lady wouldn't open a store, maybe never even open her eyes again.

Behind me, I felt Zander moving. From the corner of my vision I could see his hand in a coat pocket, poised for … something. I whirled to face him.

“What are you doing?”

He raised his eyebrows. “My duty, Cassie. That's what we're here for. To help him.”

“It's not a him.” It pissed me off that Zander was ready to send this lady's soul off and couldn't even get her gender right.

He leaned forward, peering around the Dumpster. “Oh. Right you are.” He shrugged. “Fine. I'm going to help
her
.”

I took a step to the left, blocking his path. “Don't you think we should talk about this first?”

“Talk about what?” Zander looked genuinely confused. “You see the mark, don't you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. But …”

Understanding, then incredulity, washed over his face. “You're not really thinking of trying to
save
her, are you?”

“I just think …” I trailed off, not really sure what I thought or what kind of argument might hold water with Zander or whether I should even be making an argument.

He took a deep breath then, more gently than I'd have expected, said, “Come here.” He took my hand again and led me nearer to the woman, filthy blankets wrapped around her. “Look at her, Cassie.”

“Yeah, I know—”

“No,” he interrupted. “Really
look
at her.” He squatted down so that, had she opened her eyes, she'd probably have been literally scared to death by him sitting so close. “What do you think she has to live for?” he asked softly.

My eyes traveled over her pale face, gray stringy hair matted on the side where she leaned against the frozen Dumpster. She sat on an old cardboard box stained with grease, her body bloated and covered by shapeless, colorless clothes. The answer brought tears to my eyes. “Nothing,” I said hoarsely.

Zander nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Would you really trade someone else's life for hers? So she could sit here longer? Spend another night wondering if she'll freeze to death? Another day thinking about—”

“Stop,” I whispered.

Mercifully, he did. Silence hung between us, everything suspended. But I didn't know what to do. What I
should
do.

“I'm going to do my job now,” Zander said quietly. “Her time could be any minute—any
second
. This is the best thing we can do for this woman, Cassie—give her soul peace.”

He watched me for a moment more, waiting. I might have nodded or Zander might have taken my silence as consent. I don't exactly remember, too swallowed up in the rush of sadness and guilt and horror at how this could be: her, him, me. He bent forward, the dim glint of metal shone briefly, reflecting the glow of the mark around her. And then darkness.

The mark didn't fade like a sunset blending into night. It vanished, like a bare bulb clicking off. But the impression of the glow remained scorched into my vision. She'd been alive. Now she wasn't.

I'd let that happen.

And then Zander was beside me, turning me away from where I knew she was, though I could no longer see her clearly without the mark.

“Cassie,” he murmured, words washing over me as he led us down the alley, away from what we'd done. “It was her time. If it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else. Have you ever seen someone more ready, more
deserving
of death?”

I didn't answer. How could I? Zander was so confident, without a trace of arrogance, just a quiet certainty that he'd done the right thing.

I couldn't imagine ever feeling that way.

chapter 22

He drove me to school the next day. I wouldn't have gone otherwise, was in pajamas when he showed up, ringing the buzzer at six thirty.

“What the fuck?” I heard Petra mumble, shuffling to the intercom. She is
not
a morning person.

She stuck her head in a minute later. “It's your boyfriend. He's on his way up.”

I thought about asking why she'd let him in, but that's the thing about having a roommate instead of a parent. Monitoring my social life isn't her job. “ 'Kay,” I said. “Thanks.”

She waited a few seconds, then asked, “Aren't you going to get up?”

“Wasn't planning on it.”

“No offense, Cass, but I thought you liked this guy and you look kinda like …”

“Like I just woke up?”

“Well, yeah.”

I shrugged, still lying on the bed. “If he doesn't like it, he can go to Hades.” She didn't get the joke, of course. It wasn't funny anyway.

A minute later, I heard the soft knock, their voices, then Zander at my door. “Good morning, sunshine.”

I rolled over, hugging my pillow and squinting up at him. For a second, I wished I'd taken Petra's advice. Zander was watching me with an amused smile, his skin radiant in the morning sun.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Making sure you're okay.” He came over, sitting carefully on the edge of my bed, tilting his head, eyes searching my face. I couldn't stop my heart from racing. It was like a chemical reaction, the smell of him making me light-headed every time.

I don't think I said a single word to Zander the whole drive back the night before. I know he was talking, but his words made no sense, drifting past as I watched lights outside the car window, trying to forget where we'd just been.

I wondered how long it had taken the police to find her. That's the one thing I did remember clearly: waiting for Zander's car to pull away and then stumbling back outside, walking block after block until I found a pay phone—they
do
still exist, I wasn't sure—not wanting to use anything that might be traceable. I'd quickly given them what I knew, the Norwood cross streets I fixated on while walking dumbly to his car. Then I hurried back to the apartment. For the shortest second, I'd thought about texting Jack. It occurred to me that it had been days—no, weeks—since I'd been in touch, so wrapped up in Zander. Thinking about Jack pained me in a different and deeper way now, one I didn't want to consider at all, colored with shame and regret and an abyss of longing for the normalness of what we'd been, something that seemed beyond recovery. I'd taken Nyquil and went to bed instead.

“I'm okay,” I told Zander now.

He reached over, slowly running his fingers over my face, into my hair, pushing the strands back lightly, his touch both tender and seductive. He leaned down, kissed my cheek, then my forehead, before whispering low against my ear, “Then get up.”

I felt short of breath, the numbness of the night before gone, my whole body tingling and taut and
wanting
as he lingered there.

Zander leaned back, studying me and smiling in a way that told me he knew exactly what I was feeling. “I'll wait in the car,” he said. “Don't be a slowpoke.”

I tried but wasn't that successful. My body followed simple commands—get up, shower—but my brain was sluggish, probably using all available circuits to block out memories of the woman in the alley. I stood, still dripping and towel wrapped, in front of my closet, the hurdle of choosing clothes completely insurmountable.

“Cass?” Petra paused outside my door. “You okay?”

I smiled weakly. “Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”

Petra took a step closer, leaning against the frame. “Late night last night,” she observed.

“Yeah.”

“Guess he couldn't stay away, huh? Had to come back first thing this morning?”

“Right.”

Petra raised an eyebrow, asking more directly, “Is everything okay with you and …” She waved a hand toward the door.

“Zander.”

“Right. You and Zander. You're not … in any kind of trouble, are you?”

Oh, I thought, I'm definitely in trouble. Much worse than Demetria's kind of trouble. See—Zander and I—we killed a woman last night. She was going to die anyway, but so am I and so are you. Doesn't mean we did the right thing by not saving her. I'm in horrible, sickening, un-sort-outable trouble, thanks for asking.

“No,” I finally answered. “I'm not in trouble.”

Petra raised an eyebrow, not buying it at all. She waited a few seconds before saying, “You know, Cassie, I might not be your mom or dad or grandma, but I
am
your friend. And a shrink to boot. I'm good at keeping secrets and pretty decent at helping people. If you don't want to tell me, that's totally cool, but if you need an ear—or a hand, a lift, a few bucks, anything—I'm here.”

I nodded, letting my hair fall forward to shield my face. I was on way-too-thin emotional ice not to cry. “Thanks,” I said hoarsely.

She stepped into the room, letting me pretend I wasn't a weepy mess, and said, “I'm not much of a fashion consultant, but since you don't seem to be making much progress here …”

And that's how I wound up dressed in an orange skirt, combat boots, and plaid shirt, knocking on Zander's car window forty minutes later.

“That's an … interesting look for you,” he said as I slid into the seat.

“Petra picked it out.”

“Yeah.” He pulled away from the curb. “It's, um, fierce?”

I didn't answer.

He let music—classic rock today, Clapton or Cream—fill the silence until we were about halfway there. Then he launched into what he'd come for. “You know we did the right thing last night, Cassie.”

I said nothing. He'd expected that, plowing right ahead. “I
know
you know it. In your heart. Maybe it'll take a day or so for the shock to wear off, but you know it'd be hard to find someone more ready to die. I know you know that too. But I want you to
feel
it.”

Zander turned down the block, letting guitar riffs fill the car until we pulled into a spot outside school. He turned the key, shutting off the engine and the music, and faced me. I looked away.

“What we do is hard, Cassie,” he said earnestly. “But it's
right
. And it's easier when you have a partner. Someone who can help you and support you. Especially when it's someone who cares about you.”

I met his eyes, looking for the truth, because this was part of Zander I couldn't figure out at all. Did he care? Or was it just attraction? Or the need to pair up with someone who could see the mark?

“Yes, Cassie,” he whispered, as if reading my mind. “I do.”

His eyes held mine, dark and deep and vulnerable, asking me to accept him. To believe.

This is what I wanted, what I longed for. Someone to share the mark with. It was like I'd been squashing myself down into a tiny hole, barely able to breathe with the effort of holding in this horrible secret, and Zander had come along and, without a second thought, offered a hand to help me out. A strong, sure hand that would stay in mine, making sure I didn't get lost.

“Do you think that woman's in a better place now?”

“I'm sure of it,” Zander said without a moment's hesitation. “We helped her get there, Cassie.
And
made sure the wrong person—someone less ready—didn't go in her place.”

He opened my door for me, as usual, and I took his hand, letting him lead me out of the car and into school.

“You'll never guess what I got in the mail yesterday,” Liv sang when she caught up to me after calc.

On three hours of nightmarish sleep? And after a pop quiz that I could barely read, much less answer? You're right, I won't. “What?” I asked.

She held up a booklet, practically jumping up and down. I squinted at it.
Tonleigh College
. I raised my eyebrows. “For you?”

“Yup,” she said proudly. “They have fashion merchandising in their business program. It's what my manager majored in and”—Liv paused dramatically—“she thinks I might even win one of TREND's scholarships.”

“Wow. That's awesome, Liv.” I tried really hard to sound enthusiastic, but it came out dull and hollow. Exactly the way I felt. I hoped she'd be too keyed up to notice, but she stopped, looking hard at me.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, continuing down the hall. “Bad sleep last night.”

Liv kept up. “Did something happen with Zander?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” I said. Because when I got right down to it, it wasn't Zander's fault. He had nothing to do with me or him being what we were. It just was. “Why do you ask like that?”

“I know you won't want to hear it,” she said, “and I don't have anything against him, Cass. Really. I mean, he is unbelievably hot and if you're happy with him, I am. But the thing is, you don't seem that happy.”

“I don't?” I asked tiredly, completely proving her point.

“No. You seem a lot less happy, actually.”

There wasn't much use trying to convince her otherwise so I told her a semi-truth. “It's just coincidence, Liv. I
have
been feeling a little down, but it isn't Zander. I think it's just that I'm kind of … homesick.”

“Really?” She looked at me sympathetically.

“Yeah. I mean, it's great here and I've met you and Zander, but it's not quite home to me yet. And I miss … well, lots of stuff there.”

“Hey.” Liv put her arm around me, giving a squeeze. “I'm sorry, Cass. You're so chill I forget how tough things must be for you.”

“Thanks, Liv,” I said shakily. “And congrats on the college thing. I really am psyched for you.”

“If I decide to apply,” she said breezily. “Just food for thought.” She stepped away, giving my Petra-picked outfit a once-over. “So are you okay or do I have to wait till tomorrow to rag on you for wearing orange? And, uh, the rest of that ensemble?”

I smiled. “Rag away.”